


Control

by silver_fish



Series: ASLD Modern AU Epic [3]
Category: A Saga of Light and Dark - T. J. Chamberlain, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Adrienne/Ely, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mother-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_fish/pseuds/silver_fish
Summary: Weeks after that horrible confrontation, Adrienne finally talks to Moira about it.
Relationships: Adrienne Cherri Smith & Moira Smith
Series: ASLD Modern AU Epic [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982833
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/laphicets) / [tumblr](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)
> 
> another shorter one while i work intermittently on the longer, bigger things... we’re in february 2000, adrienne’s been at the smiths’ for likeee five weeks now i guess. after her fight with katina, she came here immediately, so she’s been with them ever since. and obviously ely’s there and he loves her but modern au has given me the great gift of moira getting to have an actual relationship with her daughter-in-law (to be in this fic, but the proposal isn’t actually too far off now lol). in this verse, moira is the first person adrienne explicitly tells about her childhood abuse, which happened before she had her fight with her mother. she does kind of latch on to moira as a mother figure really quickly as abused kids, even once theyre adults, can tend to do when a potential parental figure gives them that kind of attention, so yeah. some good bonding. short and sweet. enjoy!

It has been weeks, now.

She’s not fragile, but she knows Ely and his family think she might be. It’s why they treat her this way; he’s obviously spoken to them about her, though she doubts he’s divulged any particulars. That is for her to do, he might say, if she chooses to.

But if they see her like that now, hearing what happened will only make it a reality for them: yes, she _is_ fragile, except she does not want them to think that at all, let alone with any ounce of confidence, because she’s _not_ fragile.

(She is. She has been for months.)

The truth is, she _does_ find herself thinking, sometimes, that she would like to tell Moira, just as she once told her that first ugly truth, the worst of her mother’s wrath, and yet she tries just as quickly to shut it down when the thought comes. She is an adult. She has left her parents behind. She doesn’t need anybody else’s to take care of her.

(She does. She is too young. She is tired and confused and sad, and she wishes more than anything that she had a mother who loved her.)

It’s been weeks. January has blown away on a crisp winter wind. It’s a leap year, she keeps reminding herself. It doesn’t really mean anything, but it feels somehow significant. Like if she focusses on the calendar hard enough, she can forget about everything else.

But she can’t forget.

The Smith household is small and kind and comfortable. The first time Ely brought Adrienne here, she thought this. It was really just a house, then. Someone else’s home, and she was a mere guest.

She no longer has a home. Her roots have been torn out. Her heart is still beating, but all the life in her has been abandoned right alongside her parents.

Mostly, she just...exists here. For all the house itself may be comfortable, _she_ is not always comfortable within it; she leaves Ely’s room and catches herself midway down the hall walking on her toes, then berates herself because that is _ridiculous_ , like—Moira and Cyril and Emerson are not going to hurt her. They won’t even raise their voices. They aren’t _like_ that.

Yet she spends much of her time on the couch staring absently at the wall, almost wishing one of them would. It would be something familiar, at least. It would be a _relief_.

All of them work now. She has noticed, however, that _someone_ is always here. She doesn’t know if it is because of her or if it is just a coincidence of their schedules. She doubts that, somehow.

When Ely is home, he doesn’t seem to mind that she is quiet and clingy. They talk sometimes, but more often she says she is fine and she _doesn’t_ want to talk.

(It is not, and she does.)

He doesn’t push her much, and she doesn’t know if she’s grateful for it or not. But he is always saying “I love you,” and he’s patient with her from the kitchen table when she can’t stomach dinner to in bed when she feels so disgusting she doesn’t want him to touch her, and every night he’ll hold her until she is safely asleep, and that’s all pretty damn good too.

In truth, he already knows everything. She doesn’t need to tell him what happened just as surely as she doesn’t need to tell him how she feels about it, because he was the one on the other side of the phone on Christmas Eve.

His family, though…

Today is not a good day. She can’t always tell when she wakes up, but today she did. First, there was Ely. She doesn’t really know what happened, or why, but when he was getting ready for work she just sat there and cried, and when he came over to ask what was wrong, she said, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll call in,” was his immediate response, but this only made her feel worse, until she was eventually able to convince him to just _go_. But his departure left her feeling somehow bereft, like she really _had_ wanted him to stay.

She’s _not_ alone, though. Moira is here. Just Moira. And by the time Ely leaves, with a promise to come back on his lunch, she is already cleaning the kitchen. This is what she likes to do on her own days off. Adrienne knows that in about forty minutes, she will be in the sitting room.

So, today is not a good day. It happens more often than not lately. But she does not want to be alone and she is so terribly sad and so she cleans the sitting room before Moira can even get there, because by now she has observed often enough to know exactly how she have would done it anyway.

She just sits there after that, knees pulled up to her chest on the couch. She feels ill, almost, but it is better to focus on the sensation of nausea than everything going on in her head.

It isn’t so long after that Moira migrates to this room. If she is surprised to see it already tidied, she doesn’t say so. Instead, she just sits beside Adrienne and, for a long time, there is silence.

And then she says, “When Ely was younger, we cooked together.”

Adrienne blinks, turning slowly to face her. Her expression is as serious as ever, earnest grey eyes…

“Sorry?”

“I taught him when he was about thirteen or so. Emerson didn’t enjoy it as much as he did. It was just something we did together.”

Adrienne just watches her, eyebrows furrowed.

“He would always help me cook,” Moira says, “on his worst days. When he was stressed. When he had done badly on a test. When he was lonely, or tired, or angry. Sometimes he talked to me, but other times he didn’t. It made no difference, really. It wasn’t about the things he was or wasn’t saying.”

As the meaning behind her words registers, Adrienne’s eyes begin to water. She is quick to look away.

A beat passes, but Moira doesn’t speak. She is waiting. For all she is a fierce, fiery force, she is patient.

Finally, pointlessly, Adrienne says, “He really likes cooking.”

“Yes. He does.”

“It makes him happy.”

“What about you?”

She swallows, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t cook.”

“But you clean, clearly.”

It is not really funny, but she laughs anyway. “I like it. Ely says I’m obsessive, but it helps me breathe.”

“He doesn’t stop you, though.”

“No. But if I reorganize his books one more time…”

Moira chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t mind too terribly. Have you always liked it?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I just did it.”

When Adrienne finally looks up at her again, Moira is surveying the room. After a long stretch of pensive silence, her gaze meets Adrienne’s and she says, “I imagine Ely lets you reorganize his books because he doesn’t feel any sort of _need_ to change it back.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ely’s life feels perfectly within his control. But perhaps right now…your organizing is the only thing in yours that _is_ in your control. Even if he does call it obsessive, he would never try to take that away from you.”

Adrienne’s breath catches in her throat. “I...I don’t feel like…”

“But if you did,” Moira murmurs, “it would be understandable.”

She turns her head forward again, hugging her knees against her chest more tightly still. “I’m sorry if it’s not the way you like it.”

“If it helps you breathe, I’m more than happy with that.”

Does it? She is breathing now, but it hardly feels grounded. She has organized them by title, alphabetically from A to Z and then from Z to A, by author, by genre, by height, by length, by colour. She doesn’t know where the compulsion comes from, and she’s never stopped to wonder.

“I appreciate the help,” Moira says. “Whether you talk or not is up to you, but...the hall could use a sweep, and the shoes at the door are a disaster.”

She thinks to argue, to just say _no_ , but it is a tempting offer, something to do with her head and her hands that will not leave her thinking of her parents, wherever they are now… At last, Adrienne drops her arms and sets her feet back on the floor. Unable to manage more than an agreeable nod in response, she rises and makes her way to the hall, all the way to the door. Moira fetches a broom and joins her shortly after.

They don’t speak about anything other than their tasks. They move from the hall to the washroom and then to Moira and Cyril’s room, which Adrienne thinks she oughtn’t be privy to, but Moira ushers her in rather than out, and she doesn’t seem to mind what Adrienne does or does not tidy here either. Eventually, they end up in the kitchen again and Moira tells her to sit while she makes them something for lunch.

She doesn’t get very far before the sound of the door opening and closing drifts through the hall to them. When Ely enters the room, he offers Adrienne a small smile, then pulls a chair up right beside her and sits down.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Fine,” she mutters. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

One of his hands comes up to brush against her cheek. “It’s okay. I love you.”

She leans into his touch, until he is shifting as close as their chairs will allow him to in order to wrap an arm around her shoulder and pull her close. He is so steady, so constant…

“Do you want some soup?” Moira asks.

“Sure, if you have enough.”

“There’s plenty,” she assures him.

He just nods. His breaths are deep and slow, relaxed. Adrienne tries to match hers to them, in and out and in and out, and then—

“Do you ever want to change them back?”

His chest stutters oddly, like he wasn’t expecting her to speak. “What do you mean?”

“Your books. Do you ever want to put them back how you like them?”

“Oh.” He pauses, considering this, then gives a light shrug. “There wasn’t really any order before. Honestly, it’s probably better now.”

“Would you tell me to stop if it wasn’t?”

“I don’t mind it at all. You can change them however you like.”

“Oh.”

“Anything, really,” he adds. “I know you’re more organized than I am, and it doesn’t make a difference to me. As long as I can still find stuff, you can really just do whatever. It doesn’t bother me.”

She’s quiet for a moment, thinking, and then she turns slightly to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her face in his chest. “I love you.”

He doesn’t say anything more, but he holds her there and strokes her hair and _breathes_. In far too short a time, Moira brings them each a bowl of soup, and Adrienne pulls away from him enough to let him eat. She spends more time twirling her spoon around absently than eating herself, although neither of them mention this. They do not want to make her feel worse than she already does, but she doubts that would be possible anyway; the incision in her heart is already too deep, nineteen years of horrible, toxic love she cannot bleed out of herself.

The time passes too quickly. Ely rises to take his dish to the sink, and Moira says, “Just leave it.”

He does, then comes back to sit by Adrienne again. With gentle hands, he reaches for one of hers. When she faces him, he smiles.

“Do you need anything?”

She shakes her head.

“If you do, you can always call the store.”

“...I know.”

He leans forward and presses a quick kiss against her lips, then pulls his hands away and stands again. “Thanks for lunch, Mom.”

“Of course.”

His gaze shifts back to Adrienne. Whatever he sees in her expression, she knows it is the reason his looks so sad.

“I’ll see you in a few hours. I love you.”

“Okay. Love you too.”

One more fleeting smile, and then he is gone again.

She sighs, looking down at her untouched soup. For a long moment, all is quiet.

But then Moira says, “You don’t have to eat it right now.”

Adrienne drops the spoon, throat tight. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll put it back in the pot and we can reheat it later. Would you mind helping with the dishes?”

When she nods, Moira grabs up both their bowls and first heads back to the stove, then to the sink. With a deep, dragging breath, Adrienne forces herself to her feet and follows.

This, too, is a job undertaken in silence, but she thinks of Ely, of what she said to him this morning, and she wonders if he knew what she really wanted even if she couldn’t articulate it herself.

Of course, he could’ve stayed. Would’ve, even, if she hadn’t practically pushed him out the door first. But he knows her well and so he knows that she _does_ want to talk, but she does not want to talk to him. Not about this.

She takes the last dish from Moira to dry and put away, and then pauses as the cupboard closes, breath held, eyes screwed shut…

“Adrienne?”

She opens her eyes and whirls around. Moira is leaned against the sink, watching in concern. Concern for _her_.

So she takes the leap: “I do want to talk.”

“Okay,” Moira says simply. “I’m listening. We can sit if you want.”

“That’s...that’s okay.”

“All right. You can always change your mind.”

She nods, and then stops, thinking hard. The words are all there, but they are disjointed, messy things… Moira will wait, though. She will stand here all day until Adrienne finds a way to verbalize them.

With this reassuring thought, she says, “I really miss them.”

“Your parents?”

“Yeah.” A ragged breath has her dropping her gaze down to socked feet. “I keep thinking my mother would know what to do, but...how can I ask her for a solution to a problem if _she’s_ the problem?”

“Did she often give you advice?”

“Yeah. Some things… There are some things I never mentioned, because I knew she wouldn’t like it. Like...my best friend, just before I left, and...and school, and I guess I knew she wouldn’t be happy about Ely, either…”

“Parents shouldn’t know everything going on in your world anyway, to be perfectly honest. Your life is your business.”

Adrienne still can’t look at her, barely even hears her. “I thought maybe she would understand about school, though. I know she expected me to follow the same path she did and I thought, for a long time, that I did want that, but…” She sighs, letting the tension drain out from her shoulders. “But I’ve never seen her so angry. And I can’t stop thinking, you know, she wasn’t so angry because I said I didn’t like school. She was angry because I said I had found a person who cared about me enough to realize I didn’t.”

“Your mother likes control. Is that right?”

“...Yeah. She said that… She said that she loves me more than anyone, and she understands me more than anyone else ever will. She said I’ll never be anything without her, but that I’m—I’m always _her_ daughter, so…”

“That’s not true,” Moira says quietly. “You’re a lot more than her daughter. Things might be hard now, but you have worth as an individual. No matter how much you might feel you don’t, you do. I see it. Cyril and Emerson see it. Ely sees it.”

“He was the first one who did,” she whispers. “I wish I saw what he sees.”

“I’m sure someday you will. It won’t be this hard forever.”

“I think I lost something.”

A pause. Adrienne dares not breathe into it.

Finally, Moira says, “You did. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find something new somewhere else.”

It could be a hand reaching out for her, or maybe a mere acknowledgment of a shameful feeling she has tried and failed to hide from everyone here. She is everything her mother made her and little more. Even now, the love she holds for Katina runs deep in her veins, a sentiment that has always pushed her forward, kept her so _alive_ … Sure, her mother’s love for her might be a bit conditional, but it’s still _there_.

Isn’t it?

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “It’s not fair.”

“The only person it is unfair to is _you_.” Moira quiets briefly, perhaps thinking, and then adds, “Even aside from being more than your mother’s daughter, you’re more than Ely’s girlfriend. Maybe he brought you to us, but _you_ chose to come back. There’s more that’s kept you here with us than your relationship with him.”

Her heart stutters in her chest. With a painful, whistling inhale, she closes her eyes against their sudden stinging. “I don’t think I ever had a family. I don’t think I ever had a mother. It...it doesn’t matter—what she said, it’s more… She called me a whore and a disgrace and a failure, and I thought for a… I thought that the solution was so easy, that I could be exactly what she wanted me to be again, but—but I couldn’t choose…” She stops, taking a moment to breathe. Moira stays silent until she manages to say, “I love him more than her, but I still wanted to stay with her.”

“Nineteen years of being conditioned to please a single person can’t go away in a few months.” Moira’s voice is soft, but Adrienne keeps her head bowed, eyes shut… “You’ve endured great pain. Ely knows that too, you know… You don’t need to feel guilty for thinking you might have chosen your mother over him, because anybody in your position would’ve thought the same.”

“I don’t deserve it,” she says hoarsely. “I don’t deserve this.”

“You do. You aren’t a bad person, Adrienne. You’re only nineteen.”

She turns away, gripping the counter to steady herself as she tries to force her tears back. “I’m so...so _sad_.”

When Moira doesn’t speak, the rest of the words just fall out:

“I feel like such a useless failure, like I...I’ve done so much wrong in my life, but I was finally—I was finally doing what I was supposed to, and then I went and ruined that too. I’m lonely and tired and confused and I miss my mom so much.” She takes in a sharp breath, dropping her hold on the counter. “And all I can think is how much Ely and Emerson take you and Cyril for granted, and it’s not _fair_.”

Silence, and then a hand at her shoulder has her gasping, tensing up, until she turns to face a solemn Moira.

“I’m glad my children take me for granted,” she says, “if it means that they know I will never turn them away when they need me, or hurt them, or tell them I’m anything less than proud of exactly who they’ve become. I didn’t know you as a child, but what I see now is a wonderful young woman who has been strong for the sake of other people’s peace of mind for too long now. And if she needs a place to stay where she can safely find her feet again, then I am honoured she would choose my home. It doesn’t matter if you need to organize Ely’s bookshelf again and again, or if you can’t find it in you to take care of yourself when you have already spent so much of your life being the only person who ever _did_ take care of you. I wish I could change your past and erase all the suffering you experienced, but I can’t. Instead, you have to live beyond it. And it certainly won’t be easy, but...you have already come so far from where you were. Right now, we don’t mind looking after you. If you never had a family before, then...you have one now, and we _will_ love you. I promise.”

Moira twists and blurs in her vision, and then it is—a gentle hand at her elbow, guiding her away from the counter, out of the kitchen… Moira has her sitting in the same place she was this morning, and she is lowering herself down beside her, unspeaking, patient…

It sometimes occurs to her how similar Ely is to his mother, but they are, of course, different in many ways too. But it is those same analytical grey eyes, that same unmovably equanimous presence… Adrienne does not have control of anything anymore, really. There is just—this, an emptiness within her, or perhaps it is the utter _lack_ of emptiness, so much love and pain and guilt eating her alive from the inside out.

Maybe to some degree, she knows it is true that she can live away from her parents, but she does not feel like an _adult_ , no, and yet she will not ever get back all she has left in her childhood home. Books she never got around to reading, the comforter on her bed that she always hated so much but came to miss sorely in her college residence. But of course it is nothing to do with her belongings—not that they were ever _really_ her own—or even the furniture, or her childhood bedroom itself. It is more about the life that had once been breathed into them, snuffed out mere months ago. It will never come back. There is no substitute for it. Even if the room is still full of all the same things it always was, it is empty now. It always will be.

“When I was a kid,” she says, “I got everything I asked for. They never let me forget that, either, like...like it was always how much—everything _they_ do for _me_ , and I stopped asking for things, eventually. I never thought they would _stop_ supporting me, like, materially, or financially… I told myself that they never said those things because they didn’t want to be doing that. It was just their way of keeping me humble, I guess, but I could ask for something and maybe they would buy it and then I would never want it anymore anyway because maybe they had done that for me, but it was always… I was ungrateful, because I just expected them to pay for everything, but I was...I was just a _kid_ , so how would I… How could I have even _known_ , or…”

“I’ve never gotten the impression you are ungrateful for anything.”

When Adrienne looks up at her, Moira’s gaze is troubled, but she is quick to cover it with a small, reassuring smile.

“I actually often think you’re a little _too_ grateful. Having children is a great privilege. There is nothing _owed_ by a child to her parent just because she gave her life. It’s our duty as parents to take care of our children and love them even when they aren’t perfect, or go a way we didn’t expect them to.”

“I think...I think she _does_ love me, though, even if…”

She trails off as she sees something in Moira’s expression shift, soften… It is not quite pity, but it is undeniably sad, has her eyes stinging and her throat closing up again…

“You don’t owe your parents for being alive. Your life is your own. You never belonged to anyone but yourself. You have autonomy now, yes, but you were _always_ your own person. Whatever parents give up to ensure their children grow up happy and healthy and loved...those are things we do because we _want_ to, not to leverage against our children.”

“But they were right, weren’t they? I...I took their money and I…”

“No,” Moira says firmly. “You did what you needed to do in order to live _your_ life. Your parents ought to be more concerned with _your_ absence in their lives than the absence of the money you brought with you. You are infinitely more valuable than that sum.”

Adrienne finally drops Moira’s gaze, turning to face the blank television screen. “I just keep hearing her, over and over again. _Filthy, pathetic whore_. Useless and stupid and pitiful… She said—she said that I was weak and a stain on her reputation and that she didn’t understand how she could have raised a daughter like _me_ , so...so miserable that I can’t—can’t even feel worth something unless a man is telling me I am.” She lifts a hand up to rub each of her prickling eyes. “She said that she’s the only person who could ever...ever love someone like _me_ , and I keep thinking that m-maybe she’s right.”

“She’s not. She’s not right at all, Adrienne. You’re kind and compassionate, and intelligent. You’re a beautiful woman, inside and out. Even if none of that were true, you’re still _you_ , and that makes you someone worth loving.” She stops, exhales. “But I know nothing any of us say will ever wholly negate the things you’ve learned from your mother. That’s all right, because you don’t need to believe you’re worth loving in order for other people to love you.”

Adrienne bows her head, sniffling. “I...I feel like I’m— I think Ely wanted me to...to talk to you, but it’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

She closes her eyes again and wipes at the damp skin just beneath them. “You’re not my mother. None of you asked for this. I...I’m old enough…”

A beat passes, and then Moira reaches over and gets a gentle hold of both of Adrienne’s hands, guiding them down, joined with hers, to the space in between them. Tremulously, Adrienne lifts her head until their eyes meet again.

“You’re never too old,” Moira says, “to need a mother.”

Her heart stops and starts in her chest, so painfully, and the tears come back, wash over her… She wants to be strong, to prove that she does not need anybody else to take care of her. All her life, she has been pressed beneath her mother’s thumb. Everything was, _We do this for_ you _, so you’d best be grateful for it_ , and isn’t she? Hasn’t she been? She only ever asked for one thing; she could have happily done away with all the rest.

There is within her a scratching, aching need, something she thought she rid herself of long before she even knew how to name it. She learned early on, didn’t she? Oh, certainly, she loves her mother, has always trusted her, but it was hands pulling her hair, a slap to the face, angry shouts and disgusted words if ever she came to her hurt or sad or anything less than the daughter she is _supposed_ to be.

Adrienne’s not stupid; she knows that, to Katina, she represents a sort of wish fulfillment, like—she is not a happy woman, she has made many mistakes, and if Adrienne can just act the way she wants her to then maybe she can convince herself motherhood was not the very worst of them.

“Thank you,” she manages after a moment. “Thank you for...for letting me…”

Moira squeezes her hands. “You don’t need to thank me for caring. I know this isn’t easy for you. None of us are expecting it to be.”

She swallows thickly. “Ely…”

“He loves you dearly.” Her smile is small but fond. “The way he talks about you, I have no doubt about that. But...I promise you, Adrienne—I am not here with you now because I think Ely would want me to be. I’m here because _I_ want to be. And for all the things you cannot turn to him for, I do hope you know that...there is always a place for you here. I will listen, whether you’re able to talk or not.”

“She...she never did.”

“I know. It doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be heard.”

She exhales slowly, blinking a few times to clear up her vision, and then whispers, “She called me a useless failure. She said...said I was j-just a filthy little whore and...I’m such a—a pathetic waste of space and th-that’s why I n-need a—” She stops, gasping, but Moira does not move, does not speak, just _breathes_ , and this, here, there is balance. Control.

Eventually, she swallows back the worst of her tears, but when her eyes fall shut this time, she cannot bring herself to risk opening them. “She just...just _assumed_ that—if I was going against—if I was going a different way, then it was just… She asked if it makes me feel w-worth something, but it doesn’t. I—I don’t think she even...even sees me as a _person_ , l-like I’m either the—this perfect little version of her or I’m so... _empty_ that the only way I can feel good about myself is if I’m being fucked.”

Moira’s hand twitches briefly and Adrienne inhales sharply, eyes fluttering open as she realizes her nails have been biting into the other woman’s skin. All at once, her tears are there, even worse than they were this morning.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Moira murmurs. “There’s no shame in talking about these things, you know. There’s nothing you _can’t_ talk to me about.”

Adrienne takes in a massive, stammering breath, but it does nothing for her searing lungs, does not slow her tears at all.

“I feel s-so gross,” she croaks. “I don’t want to—to let you down too.”

Moira shakes her head. “You won’t. We don’t love conditionally around here, you see… No matter if you mess up or do something we aren’t sure of, we’ll always take the time to listen to you. And even if it feels like the worst thing ever, we won’t turn you away. That’s what family is for. Whenever you need someone…”

“I...I think I do.”

“I know. Everyone needs someone.”

She sniffles, bowing her head so her gaze lands on their joined hands. “It’s hard. I’m so...so tired of…”

When she trails off, Moira says, softly, “We’re not asking you to be anything more or less than who you are. That’s a person we love. She’s _worth_ loving.”

 _Worth_ , that’s always the word, isn’t it? It takes so many different forms, all these— _deserving_ and _usefulness_ and _esteem_ , and all her life, Katina has been defining them for her. It is not just the absence of her parents’ ideals, or even necessarily their love; there is something hollowed out within her now, a space in her chest where _who she was_ once sat. Now, it is all this blank nothingness, not something reset meant to be built again but something torn away, ruined beyond restoration. Who is she but her mother’s daughter? Who is she but every foul descriptor Katina has labelled her with?

She can see now that the pride she thought her parents felt for her was never really there at all. No, that is not exactly it; they have never been proud of _her_ , only of themselves for what they have managed to make her into. She remembers well the way her parents spoke to others following her acceptance, the shine in their eyes, the sense of _accomplishment_ , but it was never Adrienne’s accomplishment, no, never, it was always their own…

For so long, though, these have been the same thing. And if they aren’t the same thing anymore, then…

How can she ever answer such questions like what she wants or who she is or what she is going to become?

“I don’t know what to do,” she mutters. “Nothing makes any sense anymore.”

“Well, of course. This is a big change for you. You don’t need to know everything just yet. It makes no difference to _us_. We can’t tell you who you are, or who you ought to be… I have no intentions of mimicking your mother in any capacity, but especially not this one. It will be up to your determination, but we can help. If you want to go back to school, we can help you apply. If you don’t, then…we can help you figure out what you want to do instead. And don’t get discouraged thinking it ought to be simple, either. Nobody gets it right the first time.”

“I think…I think I’ve already had my ‘first time,’ haven’t I?”

“True enough,” Moira concedes. “But most of us don’t even get it the second or third time. So if that does happen, it won’t alter your worth. It will not make us care for you any less. We won’t let you forget that.”

Adrienne plays these words in her head over and over again, but doesn’t get a chance to respond before the sound of the door from the hall again has them both looking up in that direction. Moira shakes herself and turns to face Adrienne again, offering a small smile.

“That should be Cyril. What we do now is up to you.”

Adrienne pulls her hands away and leans back slightly, throat aching. “I don’t think I like having so much choice.”

“That will get easier too, I imagine. You just need to get used to it.”

She wipes absently at her cheeks, looking anywhere but Moira’s face. “And used to not being hit for _trying_ to choose.”

She hears the tremble in Moira’s exhale, but her voice is surprisingly even as she says, “There aren’t any wrong choices. This is your life. If it feels out of control right now, then…that’s all right. It won’t last forever, but…there is nothing wrong with needing time to heal, either. Being lost and confused, or sad…anybody would feel that way. For now, if you just need a bookshelf to reorganize, then there are more in this house than just the one in your room.”

It is intentional, Adrienne thinks. _Your_ room. Not Ely’s. _Theirs_. And it is so small, certainly, but so momentous too, like—an offering, or maybe just a reminder. She does not have a home anymore. Her roots have been torn from her, painfully, permanently, and this, now, Moira is not saying they can grow back; she is saying that she can grow something _else_.

A shaky smile pulls at her lips. “All right,” she says quietly. “Thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. It is just what mothers are meant to do.” With that, she rises, but her eyes do not stray from Adrienne just yet. “I’m going to start on dinner. You’re welcome to help.”

Adrienne hesitates, then shakes her head. “That’s all right. I think…I think I’ll just…”

“Of course. I’ll just be in the kitchen. You don’t have to _need_ me to talk to me, you know…”

She isn’t sure if she does, but the words warm her chest anyway. “Okay. Thank you.”

Moira’s eyes search hers for a moment longer, and then she leans forward and grabs one of her hands, giving it a short squeeze before letting it fall again and turning to make her way to the kitchen. Adrienne watches her go, yet there is no sense that she is really _leaving_ , not at all… This is Moira’s home, and she has brought Adrienne into it. She will not force her out, no matter how much Adrienne sometimes thinks she might want to.

The dulled sounds of Moira’s and Cyril’s voices carry through the house to her. She leans back, eyes falling shut, and just lets it wash over her. They are simply talking. It is not a fight, not even close; they love each other, and their children too, and this whole house is built upon that love. It is steady. Constant. It is not limited in the slightest, nor is it going anywhere. They have brought Adrienne into it, have wrapped her in this, because she needs the security—needs a safe place to find new roots, or plant something entirely different, as far from her taint of her family as she can get.

But _family_ has not been just her parents for some time, now. The proof is in Moira’s words, in the hours she has wasted of her own day to make Adrienne’s even the slightest bit better. She has never had a mother before, not like this, not really, and the childish desire for one has felt so very shameful, _humiliating_ , but Moira has seen it, accepted it, and said—

It is all right to feel this way, and she is not her mother, no, but she can take on that role as long as Adrienne needs her to. Can give her a home, a place to land every time she stumbles. It is so much more than she has ever had before, which, perhaps, ought to frighten her, but it is not frightening in the slightest. No, there is control in this. Stability, kindness, comfort.

When she is ready to, she can ground herself, rise up and try again, and the Smiths will be there to help her through it. _Here_ , even, in this house, not yet a home or a family, but the closest thing she has ever had to one.

For now, though, just existing is enough. They will love her anyway, whether she believes it or not. And she cannot say what will come tomorrow or every day after, but right now, she thinks she believes it. She really does.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated! xx
> 
> if you're interested in learning more about or reading my novel series, i post all info on twitter [@laphicets](https://twitter.com/laphicets) and tumblr [@kohakhearts](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)! feel free to find me for general writing updates too; i also sometimes take fic requests on both platforms!


End file.
